March the Third
by jaistashu
Summary: England left America home alone and America is fooling around with England's wand while reading England's history book. He summons England's past selves to answer a few questions. Rated M for one curse word and borderline sexual content.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia**

**AuthoressSama: Another one shot with top votes. Hurrah~**

**Summary: **Today is March the third and America is fooling around with England's wand while reading England's history book. He takes a strong interest on wanting to meet England's past selves, so he does what any curious nation would normally do: summon them. Rated M for one bad curse word and borderline sexual content.

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><p>March the Third<p>

"Man," America mumbled to himself, "England picks the worst ways to interact with people."

England had gone to the grocery store with the intention of buying America some coffee, leaving America alone in his parlor. America turned a page in the British history book he was reading through. He pouted as he tapped a magic wand he had found on the history book's page. "That Norway's a bad influence," He lied on his stomach with the remains of a hamburger still on his cheek from a few minutes ago. Alfred sat up and tapped the wand on his head to a beat of a song he was recording earlier that week. "There was no point to the Crusades anyway. They battled each other because they were different?" America huffed and drug out his groan, "Stupid. I wonder why England did it."

The tapping on his head stopped as America's bright blue eyes widened slightly in realization. He grinned and placed the tallest point of the star wand where 'England' was written in the text. "Crusades England, I want you to tell me why you fought those dumb battles." When nothing happened, America pouted lightly, but laughed shortly after, "I knew that England's weirdo magic wasn't real!"

Alfred stood up and hurried to the kitchen to grab a snack, leaving the history book unattended. A low glow grew from the text and seemed to spill as if it were fog over the embroidered carpet of the parlor. The fog gathered and formed a loose shape. Like a star, the wayward particles pulled to the main, center frame of the smoke until it formed solid flesh and bone. Gold and bronze flowed from the text and fitted to the body. It hardened and gave off a luminous shine once the transformation was complete. A pair of eyelids opened from under dirty bangs, revealing dull viridian eyes.

Alfred returned to the parlor and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the young teenager sitting on the floor, scanning the British history book. "Hey," America breathed, causing the teen to drop the book and stand. He yanked his blood rusted sword from its sheath and aimed it at America. His eyes were firm and cold. Alfred stared at the sword and then examined the younger teen's armor. A wash of sympathy fell upon Alfred. Splatters of blood and cuts along the brilliant gold armor were prominent just as the new scars on the knight's face were.

"Hey," Alfred spoke again, this time in a much more heartfelt tone, "how old are you, England? During the Crusades, how old are you?" He held out a juicy, red apple to the knight when he noticed how gaunt he looked. America smiled warmly, attempting to show that he was a friend and the knight should not be afraid or have his guard up. "I don't want to hurt you. I only wanna know."

Hesitantly, the knight lowered his sword, but did not sheath it. The knight reached out, keeping his cold eyes on America. Once his metal dressed fingers wrapped around the apple, he pulled it from Alfred's hand and took a huge bite out of it. He moaned lightly from not having eaten for a while as he chomped and chewed on the rest of his apple.

Meanwhile, Alfred looked through the history book, "Anglo-Saxton period, eh?" He groaned lightly, "What is this? German? I can't understand any of it... Oh!" The knight stopped his eating to gaze at Alfred. Alfred put the history book on the floor and pressed the tip of England's magic wand on the book's page. "Come out, kid England!" America smiled, "England always says that I communicate with kids better anyway."

A handful of bright, white drops flowed from the corners of the wand onto the page, soaking it. America nearly panicked, but figured that he could dry the book off with a hairdryer later. After a few seconds of nothing happening, Alfred frowned and tapped the book two more times, denting the thin page. A small speck of green sprouted from the moist drops. Alfred set the wand down beside the book and leaned over it, examining what was happening. More flecks of green sprouted from the various words in the historic text until a vine of sorts grew from one of the pictures. It lengthened across the floor until it reached the sunlight that was streaming through the light curtains. The lime green bulb turned into a pastel pink and began to form the look of a rather large flower. America walked over to the window and leaned over the flower to watch in awe. Once the flora was fully formed, Alfred hesitantly pulled back a velvety petal to find a child no taller than three feet curled up with his pupils shaking behind his eyelids. A two foot long bow along with a small quiver was what the small child clutched to his wavering chest and his delicate lips seemed to tremble as if he was having a bad dream. Alfred squatted beside the now wilting bulb and brushed his knuckles against the soft cheek of the toddler. The child's eyes snapped open and darted to see who had touched him.

Alfred's azure eyes widened when he saw how large and innocent England's eyes once were. They were filled to the brim with raw determination and distrust as the pupils shivered from under young Arthur's bushy eyebrows.

Immediately, the child yanked a fresh arrow from his quiver and prepared to shoot Alfred. The knight, having been observing as well, moved to stand between America and the young England. Alfred stood and turned to the knight, "Hold on," he nervously smiled and attempted to keep the killing to a minimum, "there's no need to get all worked up over noth-"

America was cut off when the child's arrow pierced his back and peaked out from his chest. Alfred's eye twitched as he stared at the shiny red tip of young England's arrow. The knight glared at the child and drew his jewel encrusted sword. He charged at the young country and swung his sword up into the air, prepared to yank it back down onto the child.

Quickly, Alfred turned to the child and swept him up in his arms. Little England struggled, but froze with fear when the sword landed in America's right shoulder with a sickening thunk. Alfred clamped his eyes closed and bit his lip, attempting to suppress a yelp of pain. He breathed shakily and smiled awkwardly at the child's horrified face. "You okay, England?" A brief, airy laugh came from America and died before he put the child back down. America looked behind him to find the knight showing an expression of deep remorse.

For the first time, the knight spoke, his voice cracking as if he were still going through puberty. A fast slur of Old English fell from his chapped lips as he pulled his sword from America's shoulder and sheathed it.

Alfred winced violently from the sword being pulled from his cut flesh. "Uh," He held his hand up to the knight, who chose to stop speaking as his reaction, "I can't understand a word you're saying."

The knight's mouth opened slightly before he looked around. A new light entered his eyes when he realized how he could communicate his thoughts. He formed his right hand as if he were holding something and held it up to his mouth. He pretended to bite the invisible object and then patted his stomach with a smile. Then the knight bowed to America and met his eyes again.

Alfred paused and then grinned, "Oh! You're grateful because I fed you! Well, that's nice." He felt a tug on his jeans and then looked down to his left pant leg. The little England's eyes were filled with tears and he spoke in a high, wavering voice. The knight glared again and attacked the child with Old English. The two argued with each other. "Oh God," Alfred groaned, "Guys, guys, stop!" The guests stopped their arguing and directed their gazes to America. "I'm going to clean myself up. Do _not_ kill each other while I'm gone, okay?"

The knight and child stared blankly at America, obviously not understanding.

America sighed and pointed towards the child's bow and arrow and the knight's sword. He used every form of the word 'no' he knew, "Nien. No. Non. Nej. Uimh. Nei." Hopefully there was one word amongst those six that they would understand. After staring them down for a few seconds, America left the room and headed towards the bathroom.

Surely there was at least one historic England - other than the colonial one - that understood American English. America would even settle for some Shakespearian English. At least he could understand every other word of that. He took off his soiled shirt and used the peroxide to clean his wounds. Alfred dropped the used arrow in the trash can and waited for his wounds to heal. Of course, when he heard a clatter and screaming, America rushed out of the bathroom and into the parlor. "Hey," he shouted, "put the kid down!"

The older England held his child self by his ankles over the open history book. The child trashed about and howled in that weird language America did not understand. The knight and little England stopped what they were doing and slowly looked to Alfred. The child nearly giggled with delight when he saw the majority of America's wounds were healed. The knight eyed the wounds as well and deducted that America was a country as well.

The child was placed back down on the floor before the older England walked towards Alfred and inspected him closer. He looked into America's eyes with a questioning gaze. America's blank expression showed that he was as clueless as ever. The knight's eyebrows knitted together. He was rather sick of America not understanding. With a metal dressed index finger, the knight poked where the arrow wound once was.

"Oh," Alfred felt where England had poked him, "yeah, I heal fast. I'm a country, too; the United States of America."

"Uhnted Stayds..." The child England mumbled.

Alfred shook his head and kneeled in front of little England. He enunciated his name, "United States of America."

"You'd knighted stays of a mare ika," the child repeated.

"America."

The child shook his head in frustration and tried again, "A mare ika."

America sighed, "Is 'Alfred' easier to say?"

"Alfed," The little England smiled lightly.

Alfred laughed lightly, "Close enough."He looked up to the knight who repeated the name flawlessly. "Great, we're finally getting somewhere," America grinned. At that moment, the child began to rant on in the Germanic sounding language. The knight joined with his own version of the Old English. Alfred groaned and picked up the magic wand, "I'm going to summon an England I know how to talk to."

America's fingertips wrapped around a large selection of the British history book's pages and turned them. He skipped ahead to the 17th century and grinned. He pressed the magic wand to the history book and spoke, "I'm summoning you, Pirate England."

Instantly, clouds covered what little sun the northern island received, causing the parlor to grow very dark. The child England gripped onto Alfred's torso and looked from the book to the window nervously. The text started to shake and rumble as if there was an earthquake. The knight drew his sword and prepared to defend America and the child version of himself. America stood up and held little England in his arms. He backed away from the book. The book's pages' lost writing was replaced with a translucent peak into a world of dimensions. The color of it teetered from purple to yellow to a deep red. A multitude of feathers was the first that rose from the book, followed by the body of an England in his late teens. The pirate smirked devilishly as his fierce green eyes examined America. His crimson coat flowed over the wind that originated from the history book and stopped once the pirate's heeled boots were above the line of the portal. The pages of the book materialized again and the text was back. He laughed heartily and relished in the shocked looks he received from his past selves.

"Can you speak modern English, dude?" America asked, completely oblivious to the atmosphere.

The pirate stepped off the history book and walked to America suavely, "I can speak any language you want me to, love."

Alfred took in a huge sigh of relief, "Finally! Someone who doesn't speak in that Germany-ish way of talking. So I was going to ask you why you fought in the Crusades."

"That was a while ago," The captain brushed his gloved knuckles against America's cheek, "I'll need some help to jog my memory. Perhaps some rum," he paused as he let his hand fall down America's neck to rest on his chest, "among other things."

"Yeah, I'll get you some food," Alfred grinned. He was slightly nervous of how close the pirate was, but he figured that England would not try anything. Why would he?

The pirate chuckled under his breath, "I don't think you understand, poppet." His hand fell lower until it rested on Alfred's hip.

America's eyes widened in realization, "Oh, fuck. I think I just screwed myself."

Captain Kirkland grinned and slipped his fingers between America's jeans and skin. He leaned towards Alfred and whispered lowly, "That sounds like a good suggestion." His tongue traced the round shape of America's ear. Alfred let out a startled yelp and backed away, his face an explosion of red. As if on cue, the knight stood in front of Alfred with his sword out and shining. His glare was hard and met with the pirate's amused smirk. The child England leaped down from America's arms and stood by the knight's side. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and aimed it at the pirate. "Aye," Captain Kirkland said as he pulled his polished guns from his holsters that hung from his hips, "this'll be a good fight."

England handed the cashier his money when his phone that America had bought him recently rang out in its loud, attention-seeking ringtone. As the cashier picked the change out of the cash register, England pulled his relatively new smart phone out of his pocket. He scoffed when he saw the caller identification, "America can't go ten minutes without having someone to pester." He slid his thumb over his phone's screen to answer the call. England pressed the phone to his ear just before accepting his change and asked, "Hello?"

"England," England had to yank the phone from his ear when he heard America scream, "England, for the love of God, come home!"

England groaned and held the phone closer to his ear, "Calm down, America. I've just finished at the store. I'll be home in no more than eight minutes." He checked his simple, clean cut watch for the time. America had begged England to let him buy him a more gaudy watch. England had assured him that all he needed was his old, simple watch. He fully expected to have a new watch by the end of the week.

"Your house could be destroyed by then!" America continued to shout and panic.

England stopped dead in his tracks when he heard more yelling and curses in a language he nearly forgot. "America," He spoke quickly with a hint of worry laced on his tone, "what are you doing?"

America yelped, "Oh, God!" England could hear sounds of struggle and shouts coming from America, "Get off me, man! Eng-"

There was a sound of a gun cocking before the line immediately died. England pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at the screen of it. "He was cut off?" He looked up to the trail ahead of him and tucked his phone back into his pocket. A determined expression replaced his confused one. England tied the plastic bag's handles together and preformed one of the fastest sprints he could muster.

America's voice cracked as he stared at his high tech smart phone which was sporting a newly made hole directly in its center. Pieces of it were strewn about in a five foot radius from the pirate's bullet's impact. Captain Kirkland sat on America's back, with each of his knees on either side of his victim's waist. The pirate wasted no time on restricting America's wandering hands together with his emerald colored sash. "H-hey," America looked back at Captain Kirkland with worried eyes, "where did your past selves go?"

"I locked them in the cellar," Alfred let out a whimper as Captain Kirkland slipped his fingers between America's underwear and skin, "so we could have some _adult_time together." He chuckled; amused. Captain Kirkland's free hand ventured to his mouth. He bit one of the gloved fingers and pulled it from his warm hand. He opened his mouth, dropping the glove, and let his bare fingers wander along America's tan back.

Both of them looked up to the front door that was all of eight feet in front of them. They heard someone on the other side cursing as he fumbled with the lock. Finally, the person kicked the door open to reveal the modern England as the one that was cursing and spitting insults at his worn house key. England stopped when he saw the pirate version of himself straddling a bound, topless America. He stuttered at first as his face turned pink. Then he covered his mouth and looked away. "G-get off of him," England hissed weakly, still shocked from the display.

The captain chuckled and pressed his chest to America's back. "Now, now," His glove less hand forced America to turn his head to allow the pirate to nuzzle his cheek against America's before licking it entirely, "don't be jealous."

America thrashed about, not wanting to be used to annoy England. "England," he spoke desperately, "c'mon and get this guy off me!"

England dropped the bag and as he ignored America's rebuttal to hurting the coffee container, he stormed over to the pirate and swiped the overly indulgent monstrosity from his messy locks of hair. He growled with a stern stare, "You'll get this back once you get off of the blonde wanker."

"Oh, come _on_, Mister Mom," America groaned and let his struggling die down, "you can do better than that!"

The pirate England glared darkly at his modern self. He obviously did not want his precious headdress to be removed from his scalp. He inhaled and then sighed softly to calm down, thinking he could talk England into something even better than what was currently going on, "Could it be that you want to be in my place; straddling this man as he's bound helpless?" England's stare softened a bit. "Maybe we could both have _adult_ time with this man," the pirate grinned deviously.

America gasped incredulously, "England, I swear to God, if you _ever_ want to see me again, you won't do that!"

England glanced into the parlor to see his magic wand resting next to one of his historic books. He understood what America had done. England's stance grew relaxed as he went over what his younger self suggested, "Are you saying that we should both join in and share him?" Yes, America needed to be punished and the best way to do make a child behave is to scare the living daylights out of them.

"Oh, God, England, don't!" America whined and struggled violently, "I'll hate you forever!"

"I don't know, America," England leaned against the wall behind him, "this seems to be a very promising proposition."

The pirate's eyes grew wide. He asked, "America?" England nodded in response. The pirate moved Alfred's head to the side again to examine his ex-colony. He jumped up to his feet and shouted, "Bloody Hell!" Quickly, Captain Kirkland undid the knots of his emerald sash and pulled America up. "I hardly recognized you, America! What are you doing here of all places?"

"Just hangin'," America brushed off any dust on his chest. The basement door was smashed open by use of the knight England's sword. The child England rushed out from the basement and jumped into America's lap. He nuzzled against America's chest. "Aw...," America held the child to him and nuzzled his cheek against the child's messy head, "you must have been scared."

The knight aimed his sword at the pirate and then at the gentleman. In Old English, he demanded what the modern England was doing inside the house. The modern England's mouth opened into an 'o' position when he realized just who America summoned. He explained in Old English that America was going to be his little brother and he told the knight and child to take good care of America when the time came. England continued to say that he needed to send all three versions of himself back into the history book. Reluctantly, the three agreed.

The pirate was the first to go. After giving America a firm hug and a kiss he disappeared back into the history book in the form of dimension bending the space around it. The second go to was the knight. He sunk down to one knee and placed a hand on his chest. He bowed his head and then stood. He was pulled back into the book with the appearance of bright flecks of light. The child stood in front of the sitting America. He held onto one of America's large hands and placed it on his small, soft cheek. A tear or two dripped down his face, causing him to rub his head into America's hand. He wrapped his arms around America's wrist and forearm before he, too, disappeared. His transportation back into the book required his body to become flat and form into petals of every flower from the old world. Once the last petal drifted into the text, the book closed.

England placed the history book back in its place on the shelf and let the wand fall into its case. He closed the case and locked it shut. "America," he began.

"Yes?" America stood up and walked over to his ex-brother.

England turned to America and huffed angrily. He glared at the destroyed parlor and hissed, "I am _never_ going to leave you home alone again!"


End file.
